


Drowning

by Vanwatano



Series: Antagonist [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/F, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Smut, and shame, fantasies, on curufin's onanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 23:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanwatano/pseuds/Vanwatano
Summary: After Dagor Bragollach, Celegorm, Curufin and their people finally reached Nargothrond, and after a meeting and many convincing arguments, Felagund allowed them to abide within the realm. For the first time in weeks, Curufin can enjoy a moment of calm and solitude, and rediscover the sensations of his body.





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW - Warning for graphic smut, self-harm (suffocation, drowning, burning), onanism and some of Curvo’s fantasies (het and slash/femslash). Also it’s all about Curufin’s issues with sexuality, so nothing joyful in it.
> 
> Drabble related to the main (sfw) fic A lasting anathema (it goes right after the fifth chapter).

The room was warm. Steam could already be seen on the mirrors, and thoughtfully diving into silence, Curufin was watching the water fill the bathtub, creating more steam and more warmth, soaking his mind with dangerously comforting sensations. It felt like a cocoon, but also like a trap, and in this chamber built deep within the caves of Nargothrond, the Ñoldo couldn't totally ignore the dangers of such disturbing thoughts. They could drive him away from his path, take his will and determination away and keep him in a position of passivity, blinding him with comfort and lies, as if nothing could ever annihilate this peace. And Curufin had no wish to let the walls of his comfort and sensuality keep him away from his duties.  
And yet, on this very night, after so many weeks of war and blood, of loss and wanderings, of doubts and grief, he could not ignore the necessity to give in to a bit of contentment, and so carefully he locked the door before getting rid of his dirty garments, remains and reminders of the battles and sufferings.

 _“I should burn them.”_ Curufin thought as he threw them on the floor, his bare body already wet with the steam. A few movements later, his hair was free from the braids, and carefully he stepped into the tub.  
The water was, as expected, terribly hot; Just like he wanted, and it took a few long minutes before his skin could get used to the scalding sensation. The wince on his face vanished, and pain turned into pleasure. He needed it; This pain, this physical torment which was the only thing that made him feel really alive after so many days of physical and emotional anaesthesia. A necessary anaesthesia, an emotional inertia, which had been his only way to keep his mind clear while facing the horrors of the war. And his duties.  
But now, he needed to wake up, as much as he needed oblivion, and most of all, he needed to feel. A bundle of various sensations seemed the be the only way to forget everything else, and to put his mind at rest.

Twice he sank into the water, holding his breath as long as possible as he let the smarting bite and slide against the skin of his face. Underwater, at least, his tears couldn't be seen. Even he didn't notice them, focusing on his breath, on his suffocating lungs, flirting with dizziness as to summon and revoke a death which he despised. It was a dangerous game – a surprising new game – but each time his face poured forth the water, and air filled his lungs again, he felt more alive than ever. And on the dark path which his mind carefully followed when he plunged into water, on this suffocating path where no light could be seen nor reached, he could taste oblivion. So close he was to faintness, and this closeness, as threatening as it could be, felt like a delicious vertigo, a fall into the most sombre part of himself. And this chill was a terrible delight.

He repeated the experiment a few times before he finally rested his head against the tub, breathless and thoughtful.

He was not punishing himself. He was trying to find a way to escape from the lethargy which threatened to bind him and pin him down, to the whirl which forced the most detestable thoughts to come back again and again, and prevented him from moving forward.

He sighed, both hands resting on his stomach as he tried to focus on his breath, his chest following its rhythm which was slowly recovering its calm. But it wouldn’t last.  
Almost unconsciously, Curufin's fingers started to toy lazily with the few dark hairs that adorn the trail between his navel and his pelvis, fingertips twirling around them and gently pulling them, brushing them. His eyes were closed, and his mind was only open to the sensations, and to the flow of images which would soon follow the lazy stimulation. He hummed quietly to himself, giving in to the sensations which, he hoped, would bring his rhöa back to life and awake his inner fire, making it flow through his veins like it used to. Yes, he had still hope. The hope to not lose himself, to become again the one he used to be, before everything they had built fell into pieces, and to find again the strength to face not only himself, but also the reality about himself.

The left hand left his pelvis to travel down his thigh, only half sinking into the water. And when his fingertips finally brushed against his sex, a sharp gasp left his lips. It had been so long since the last surging of delightful sensations, sensations in which he could so easily lose himself. But Curufin knew them, and he knew himself well enough to stop the game ere it could make him lose control.  
Control; it was a challenge, always, to keep control over the urge, over the absurdities of this chaotic debacle, where senses and thoughts melt and turned a body into a ball of excruciating powerlessness. This loss of control was to him like the basest vulnerability, and even through his most powerful orgasms, Curufin had never allowed himself to really let go.  
He closed his eyes, allowing the images to overflow, and instinctively his fingers wrapped themselves around his sex, already stimulating the tip slowly as he pulled the foreskin back and revealed the so sensitive flesh.

He knew the choreography by heart, the movements which would bring him to the edge of ecstasy, and how to slow down the rhythm to let the pleasure travel through his whole body, spreading delight to make it more controllable, to keep it under his will. And if he couldn't reach any sort of absolute abandon, at least he could make his perversity more tolerable.

Quickly his flesh started to turn hard, and under his clever hand, half covered by the water, the sensations were awaking. Sparks of light and fire in his core, chills along his spine, and soon all his body was trembling with the fierce pleasure of his ministrations. His hands traveled along his member, slowly first, awaking the sensitivity little by little, teasing one after another the most receptive parts of his body. From base to tip, helped by the sensation of the water against his flesh, his sex grew bigger, his breath grew sharper, his balls tightened with the intensity of his need, and before he could even notice it, his hips were following the pace of his hand.

In his head though, the images were swirling, and he was watching the pleasant sight of bodies merging and collapsing in their own lust. Women first, uniting their bodies through caress and kisses, and even through the smoke of his fantasy, Curufin could almost hear the sweet melody of their moans. And he was watching, sometimes touching a breast or the roundness of an arse, keeping himself away from their passion but sharing their pleasures. Through his mind the scene grew in intensity, and the maidens were now looking at him, enjoying themselves with one another but keeping their eyes on him, as if expecting him to command, to order. His only quiet order was that they would be joined by men, submissive and muscular, and under his attentive watch the bodies would merge and collapse, summoning his need and his wish to keep control over them, over himself.  
And gold and silver would pour forth from the union of their unchained rhöar. 

Still caught in the web of his lust, in the delight which was burning in the pulsation of his sex, Curufin opened his eyes, chasing away the images to peek at his own body, to observe his own erection, and the power which it seemed to send through his veins. His left hand moved faster, and the right one found its way to his testicles, caressing their tightness and the burning eagerness they contained.  
He shut his eyes again, and this time the image was that of a beautiful face between his legs, pursed lips closed around his erection and sliding down the length until their nose sank into the dark hairs that covered his skin. Male or female, he cared not. All he wanted was their beauty, and the warmth of their mouth around his flesh. He could almost hear them gag around his length, and he focused on the image long enough to almost forget what his own hands were actually doing. They seemed to move like controlled by another will, by their own will, and Curufin knew he would have to leave his fantasies aside, or he would totally lose control. 

When he opened his eyes this time, the image was still floating in the back of his mind but he focused on his own movements and the sensations they conveyed. The stinging need in his lower back, pulsing achingly as he stroked himself quicker, the slight twitch of his sex between his hand; all of these little details could bring Curufin so far - too far - and he bit back the moans which threatened to break through his lips.

When his head fell back he knew he wouldn't last any longer, and as he kept a determined eye on his sex, he felt the first flash of his climax exploding through his core.  
He came quietly, biting his tongue, his flesh throbbing intensely in his palm as he continued to stroke his sex, his fingers sucking his seed out of it.

In his orgasms, there was always more tension than relaxation. And it was precisely through this tension that he could enjoy all the subtleties of his needs. In fact, Curufin could barely imagine that things could be different.

 _“Look at yourself Curufinwë; spoiling the pure waters of Nargothrond with your hidden lust and your wrathful seed.”_ He thought. _“Pathetic and delectable. Sheer reflection of a forbidden misery."_

He laughed quietly and bitterly to himself, and with a wicked smile he looked up at the ceiling, his fingers resting lazily around his member. But suddenly, a well-known voice echoed in the room next door – his son's voice, talking with Celegorm. Curufin didn't even get the time to catch their words, already he was leaving the bathtub, wrapping a towel around his waist to hide his shame and to pretend such lust didn't abide within him. Of course, nobody would come into the bathroom, nobody would know and nobody would see, but Curufin would know, and to know that his own son, the fruit of his core, was so close, was like a knife cutting through his guts. The situation was blowing away all the lust in him, and soon, a disgusting and painful feeling poured forth.

There lied the two different parts of him, two worlds which he was determined to keep apart. The man he was in his intimacy had nothing to do with the father he wanted to be, and the two of them couldn't cohabit. At all. His perversity couldn’t exist in a world where he was a father.

Standing on the edge of panic, Curufin glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and he did not like what he saw. Wet dark hair, falling messily upon his shoulders, a body tired and tensed, as if struck by the hammer of shame, grey eyes covered with remorse and fears. This self-disgust was unbearable, and when he heard, from behind the door, Celebrimbor call him and gently mock him for the time he had been locked in this bathroom, Curufin closed his eyes, hoping that, when he would open them, he would be a different men. And a new father.


End file.
